Day 32: The temptation of Banff Apologies for the delay in updating this blog but for the past week under the tutorage of Tim I have taken loafing to a new level. If, God forbid, I ever lost my job and was forced to spend my days as a bum I know that I am fully equipped to live this life.

Anyway, I spent a night in Vancouver last Saturday and splashed out on a room for one - a luxury I hadn't experienced in 3 weeks. Sleeping in a room with one other snoring man every night was losing its charm.

The Greyhound bus (somewhere in between a National Express and a dirt-cheap Megabus) journey to Banff was 13 hours from Vancouver and I was dreading it. I went for an overnight option hoping it would numb the pain. Of course, I was wrong. I was in for an interesting journey.

The first 4 hours were quite uneventful and I thanked the Lord for our first stop in the middle of absolutely nowhere. The bus had a few Australians, a few Goth Candians, normal Canadians and other characters but was pretty empty and quiet. Our quiet peaceful Greyhound harmony was about to be rudely broken.

I settled back on to the bus and as I waited my nostrils suddenly smelt imminent danger approaching in the form of a singing, learing drunk who resembled a cross between a weird looking Dan Ackroyd and not so funny John Belushi.

I tried not to look in his direction and prayed that he'd sit on one of the many empty seats not positioned anywhere near me. He of course positioned himself 2 seats in front of me, which was too close for my nostrils and then, to my horror for some unbeknownst reason he got up and sat in the seat directly in front of me. He then proceded to start talking to everyone around him culminating in him bursting into untuneful song.

He tried to initiate contact with me but I couldn't be arsed as he seemed nasty drunk and a bit rude so I turned up my i-phone and ignored him. This only made it worse. He started to sing even more loudly and shout at the people around him. This went on for about 2-3hours and coupled with his grotesque stench it was driving me crazy. I started to get angry and maybe not a wise idea but kicked the chair in front to indicate my disaproval.

He simply increased the level of his singing to an annoying crescendo. I cracked and told him to 'shut up!'. "O isssh daaat aan Iinglissh ahh chent aye hear" he said, pleased for an excuse to initiate contact. He informed me that he "can shing eevry Beetle schong dere ish". I told him again to shut up and this time the Aussies piped up too.

It inevitably descended into a silly argument and he continued singing. This, for him, was a mistake because it alerted the attention of the bus driver who stopped the bus and told the drunk to get off right there in literally what looked like a barren wasteland with a road running through it. The drunk, even though three sheets to the wind had enough sense to understandably beg the driver to let him out somewhere less barren. The driver agreed but said he was calling the cops.

We arrived in the next, middle-of-nowhere-town and the drunk was asked to leave the bus. He, another driver and a hard loking Candian off our bus engaged in a discussion and then the drunk went and laid in front of the bus in the middle of the road. Fittingly this was the end of the road doe the drunk as several cop cars with menacing looking patrol men and women turned up. We waited around for ages until the drunk was packeged into the car and forceably removed. It was exactly what the 13 hour journey didn't need.

I managed to get sleep and waited to arrive in Banff.

To be continued...